


A storm so wild and lonely

by Bloodymoonwolf



Series: My life I owe to you [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot, Outdoor Sex, Romance, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodymoonwolf/pseuds/Bloodymoonwolf
Summary: A hasty and desperate night in the forests of Redania, after seven months apart.__________________________Disclaimer: This fanfiction contains some spoilers for events in Witcher 2 and Witcher 3. Please proceed at your own risk.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Iorveth
Series: My life I owe to you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534274
Comments: 12
Kudos: 131





	A storm so wild and lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> If you are new, this one-shot belongs to a series of mine called "My life I owe to you", but it can of course be read independently. 
> 
> If you have read MLIOTY, welcome back! I know you guys wanted this particular scene and I strive to please, so enjoy. A reminder: This plays 7 months after Chapter 23, and 5 months before the epilogue.
> 
> Have fun!

**7 months after**

The forests of Redania were not much different from those around Vergen, Iorveth decided. Dark firs and scattered oak and beech trees. He shifted his weight, feeling the gnarly bark through the soft soles of his boots. It was his first time away from Aedirn since his return seven months ago, though he had travelled through these parts many years before, during the war. Then, the Scoia'tael had been betrayed, routed and killed. Today, war had found the North again, and his kind was barely enough in numbers to be a thorn in anyone's side. The last scattered groups that still existed now fought for their survival. He had come as an ambassador of sorts, to try and convince his brethren to return with him to Vergen, to the haven Saskia had carved out of Upper Aedirn and payed for with blood.

Taking over the night shift had been his idea. He seldom slept well anymore; his dreams were choked with memories of cut-off fingers and poisoned rulers.

Loneliness played its own ugly part, of course. It had been seven long months since Geralt and he had last seen each other, and it became harder and harder to hold on to the witcher’s promise of return. His search for Yennefer was still on-going, and he’d not had word yet as to the progress. It was a bitter thing, patience, and it filled him with anxiety to know so little, a thousand fireants crawling through his insides day and night.

No, he preferred being useful on nights like this, with the moon out and the smell of a storm in the air. Better to be aching and freezing high on a tree than lying awake on damp bedding with noone for company.

Iorveth sighed, settling in against the broad tree trunk. He was one of the outer guards, just close enough to the main camp that they would hear him shout if he spotted any danger, but otherwise it was almost as if he were alone in the dense forest. The moonlight fell down through the mostly empty branches and lit up the ground in black and silver. The owls had fallen silent, their dusk hunts finished. The soft rustle in the blackberry thickets alone told him that some animals were still awake.

A quiet snort ripped him from his musings. Instantly, Iorveth’s bow was drawn and an arrow notched, the feathers tickling his cheek and ear. He knew the sound of horses, and this one was coming closer. Iorveth stepped lightly over the branch, just thick enough to hold his weight without bending, and scanned the forest. The trees were black pillars in the night, backlit by the full moon, but otherwise not much was visible. Still, he strained, until he could just make out a blocky shape with a thinner one on top. A horse and its rider. Iorveth looked around once more, but they seemed alone. He crouched down, bow still at the ready. There was an invisible line. Once the rider crossed it, Iorveth had to shoot. A warning shot first, if he felt generous that day.

Not having felt generous in a while, Iorveth took aim for the head.

The horse crossed a patch of moonlight, and white hair reflected back in the night. Squinting, Iorveth shifted the arrow a bit to the side. Most dh’oine knew to not stray from the path in this particular part of the forest, unless they were Redanian soldiers or Nilfgaardian occupiers, but he had no interest in killing an old man that had lost his way in the dark.

The silhouette of the human was easier to see now. Iorveth paused. He could have sworn … but no, that was impossible. And yet, he saw them, the outline of two swords on the figure’s back.

Cursing himself a fool, Iorveth let the arrow fly, punching harmlessly into the ground a few steps away from horse and rider. The animal shied, then righted itself when the rider whispered and stroked its neck.

“Squass'me, Aen Seidhe” an all too familiar voice called. “But I must pass through this forest, and I have no time to lose.”

_It’s him._

This single thought filled Iorveth’s head to bursting, and it took him so long to answer that Geralt rode forward questioningly, apparently unsure if his silence was a yes or no.

“Not in too much of a hurry to greet me, I hope” Iorveth finally called, then slung his bow over his back and jumped down from his branch. The witcher’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the elf and Iorveth enjoyed every second of the reaction, before he spread his arms out. “Surprised?”

“Bloody elf” Geralt cursed and swung himself off Roach’s back. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the sa—”

He came no further as Geralt grabbed him and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, so full of yearning that all the doubts that had festered in Iorveth’s heart melted away like snow in the sun. He felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. Instead, he slung his arm around Geralt’s neck, pressing them closer together until he could barely breathe. From so close, Geralt smelled of days on the road, sweaty and dusty, with an undercurrent of blade oil and sharp alcohol. He pulled back just long enough to study his face, stroking down his cheek with one hand. The witcher’s yellow eyes were full of wonder. A few fresh cuts and scars littered his features and his beard was scruffy and unkempt and covered the whole lower half of his face. Iorveth had never seen him like this. He looked older, but also kinder and wiser in a way. It suited him.

Geralt stared back at him, brushing his thick and calloused fingers over Iorveth’s bandanna, where he knew Iorveth’s scars were hidden from the world. Iorveth let him. In the beginning of their relationship, he had shied away from this intimacy, but now he realized how much he had missed Geralt’s tender gaze and touch. “You are a long way from your Queen” the witcher noted, brushing their noses together, breathing the same cold autumn air.

“I’ve come to gather the last Scoia’tael” Iorveth explained. “Their battle serves no more purpose save to shrink our numbers even more. In Vergen they will be safe.”

“And are you successful?”

“… It is a work in progress.”

Geralt chuckled, hugging Iorveth tight again. “I see.”

“What about you? Have you found Yennefer?”

Geralt stiffened, then sighed and let him go. He grabbed Roach’s reigns and gestured towards one of the thicker trees. “She is found, and well. But there have been … complications.”

And so Iorveth learned that Geralt’s daughter, Ciri, was back and in danger, that _she_ was now the one Geralt had to find at any cost, and that she wasn’t making it easy.

“I have hunted her through Velen and Novigrad already” Geralt explained in a low voice, his hand never leaving Iorveth’s. “My next stop will be Skellige, where Yennefer waits for me, but I am running late and I still have unfinished business south of here at Crow’s Perch. She will have my head.”

“You can’t ride through the coming storm” Iorveth argued. “Take shelter with us, at least for the night, and leave early in the morning.”

Geralt’s eyebrows lifted, but he smiled. “I don’t think I can. Thank you for the offer, though.”

Iorveth squashed his feelings down and nodded. Geralt would be fine. And if this meeting didn’t turn into what he had hoped … well, he was no stranger to disappointment.

Geralt clearly struggled with something else. He stared down at their hands, rubbing circles into Iorveth’s skin. Finally, he spoke. “In the future, should all fall out as we anticipate, should the Wild Hunt attack and we be forced to defend Ciri at Kaer Morhen, will you answer my call?”

“Geralt” Iorveth said, exasperated. “I would cross the world if you asked it of me.” He didn’t have to explain why. The witcher understood wordlessly, how he so often did.

“Thank you, Iorveth. I do not take it for granted.”

Silence, heavy with unspoken words, settled over them. The wind was getting stronger, blowing Geralt’s white hair into his face.

Up until that moment, it had seemed as if the witcher’s head was somewhere else completely. Now though, Iorveth could feel his gaze refocus, roaming over his body, and an involuntary shudder overtook him.

“How long has it been?” Geralt murmured, edging closer. Iorveth let him, staying completely still, save for his erratic heartbeat, which Geralt must have surely noticed, for his pupils blew wide, filling his iris with black.

“Seven months, give or take” Iorveth replied, his voice thick with desire.

“Too long” Geralt growled. “Too long by far.”

And he slammed into him, kissing him like a beast unleashed.

* * *

Geralt pushed Iorveth down into the damp forest floor, ripping off his belt and clumsily removing his bow in a hurry to get to the warm skin underneath all the layers of armor and green cloth. Iorveth helped as best he could, lifting his shoulders and hips in tandem with Geralt’s struggles, until he lay half naked on a bed of his clothes. His shirt was pulled up to his collar bone and the skirt pushed over his hips to reveal the already half hard cock beneath, lying in the crease between thigh and hip, twitching.

Geralt lost no time and nestled his face against it, stroking the long shaft with one hand and kneading the powerful thigh with his left. Iorveth keened, overwhelmed already by the pleasure they both had been denied for so long. Geralt quickly opened his trousers just enough to give his own cock some room, then started licking the head of Iorveth’s with abandon. He tasted salt and musk and a hint of soap which Iorveth must have brought with him from Vergen.

Above him, Iorveth moaned, fingers clawing into Geralt’s hair and pushing him down harder, his legs spreading wide to give him more access. Geralt smiled around the weeping head and let himself be pulled deeper, until he felt the length hit the back of his throat. He gagged at first, then relaxed and backed up just a bit until he was comfortable enough to start sucking in earnest. He completely lost himself in the motion, bobbing his head up and down, stroking Iorveth’s balls and belly and thigh and listening to the sounds his lover made. He felt the elf’s cock swelling in his mouth, felt the sac tightening and lifting up in his hand, and sucked Iorveth even deeper. The elf came with a long shout, spending his salty seed into Geralt’s mouth and down his throat.

Geralt sucked a few more seconds, just for good measure, then let the slackening cock pop from his lips and grinned up at Iorveth, satisfied with his work. Iorveth’s eyes were closed and he was panting harshly. “You are … insufferable” he finally managed and looked to Geralt, who was still grinning broadly. His own cock was aching, but he ignored it for the moment, gloating instead.

“I’ll take that as a thank you.”

Iorveth looked down at the obvious tent in his trousers and licked his lips. “Need some help with that?”

“Why, if you offer …”

Iorveth snorted and hooked his feet behind Geralt’s thighs, pulling him closer until their cocks just brushed. He was already hardening again, Geralt saw with delight, and his own member twitched. Iorveth leaned up on one elbow, tilting Geralt’s face forward and kissing him, first slow, then open-mouthed and sloppy. Geralt followed his lead, letting himself be drawn into the play of tongues and teeth and bitten lips. All the while, he inched his hand to Iorveth’s ass and finally inserted his thumb.

Iorveth’s breath hitched, hand clawing involuntarily into Geralt’s disheveled hair. “Yes” the elf hissed, kissing a path down his chin and throat.

Geralt happily obliged. Using his free hand to uncork one of his blade oil bottles, he coated his fingers liberally with the thick liquid and began thrusting into Iorveth in earnest, first with one, then two fingers.

Iorveth let himself fall backwards again, hands grasping for purchase in the wet ground around them. Geralt hummed happily, leaning forward while he worked to blow kisses on the elf’s abdomen and skimming his nipples with his teeth.

“Bloede Vatt’ghern, hurry!” Iorveth cried, lurching forward and grabbing Geralt by the dick. “Has it been too long for you to know how to use this?”

Geralt ground his teeth together at the contact of those nimble, rough fingers on his hot flesh, and decided that he had prepared Iorveth quite enough. Apparently, the elf wanted it rough tonight. Without further ado, he pushed the crown of his cock against Iorveth’s opening, then thrust inside completely.

Iorveth’s eyes clamped shut, his chest flushing a beautiful dark color in the moonlight. Raindrops began pelting down, slow at first, then in a steady stream, as Geralt pulled out and pushed in again, moaning from the feel of Iorveth’s tight walls, hot and slippery from the oil.

“You feel so good, Iorveth” he groaned, building up his rhythm. The cold water soon dripped from his hair and nose and covered Iorveth’s steady whimpers. The elf was completely gone, his hips rocking in time with Geralt’s movements, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

A flash of lightning lit up the forest in blinding white, just as Geralt rammed into Iorveth again, hitting his prostate spot-on. The elf screamed, back arching and lifting up from the ground. Above them thunder rumbled through the sky, drawn-out and vibrating in their chests. Geralt slowed his onslaught on Iorveth's ass just enough to appreciate the view beneath him fully. His lover lay writhing and cursing beneath him, completely lost to the pleasure of having his hole stretched and abused. Geralt angled up a bit more, dragging his cock along Iorveth's prostate with every movement, and began stroking Iorveth's own shaft which was already weeping pre-cum into the hollow of the elf's belly.

"Geralt—" Iorveth keened, then stopped as the orgasm wrecked him and he came all over himself and into Geralt's hand. The rain washed the semen down his sides into the ground, and lightning struck again, closer this time judging by the roaring thunder that followed soon after.

"You are so good" Geralt whispered, voice almost lost in the sounds of pelting rain and furious wind. "I missed you more than you can imagine, Iorveth." He picked up his pace, no longer able to hold on. His cock felt on fire in the enclosed space of Iorveth's body and he needed to come, more than he needed to breathe.

Iorveth's moans turned into whimpers and cut-off pleas as Geralt went faster and faster, hitting deeper in the elf than he ever had before. With a start, he realized that this was the first time he topped Iorveth like this. He had fucked him before, but with Iorveth riding his cock at his own leisure, and after the injuries that Iorveth sustained during their battle with Saskia, he hadn't dared take Iorveth like this, wild and unrestrained and merciless. Now, here they lay in a forest, surrounded by a gathering storm and dripping wet from the rain, and Iorveth was _falling apart_ beneath him.

"More, more, _more_ …"

Iorveth's healthy eye, closed until this moment, found his, and for a moment, all else around them faded. Geralt gripped Iorveth's hips with both hands and pulled him down against him while he thrust forward with abandon. He tumbled over the edge into his own orgasm, just as Iorveth clutched his arms over his head in a desperate attempt to hold on, and shot his seed as deep into the elf as he could. Iorveth came as well, his member spurting a few more strings of cum before he went still, chest heaving and blotched with color.

Geralt stared down at the place where they were still joined, his cock buried to the hilt and spreading Iorveth wide. Slowly, tantalizingly, he pulled out and watched as his cum dripped out of the widened hole. Mesmerized, he cupped the sticky, warm liquid in his hand and pushed it back inside, massaging it against the quivering walls of Iorveth's entrance.

The elf moaned, arms falling to the side. "Proud?" he drawled, his voice still hoarse and weak, but amused as well. Geralt nodded, still moving his fingers against the hot, slick skin.

"I wish I had something to keep it in there" he murmured, finally looking up at Iorveth who watched him with his hooded gaze, a silent desire burning in his eye. He did not dislike the idea. Geralt filed that knowledge away for later.

He reached down and helped Iorveth sit up. The elf leaned heavily against him, slowly recovering. "Are you still planning on leaving tonight?" Iorveth asked. "It is late, and you are in no condition to travel.

The rain was still streaming down and Geralt realized with a start that he was freezing cold and completely drenched through. As if to agree, another flash of white ripped through the sky, closely followed by more deafening thunder.

Geralt smiled, wondering if he was allowed this small respite, if the storm itself had come to gift him this reunion with his lover. He kissed Iorveth on the lips, tasting rainwater.

"I guess one night can't hurt."


End file.
